


Affections of a Witcher (and the Side Effects Therein)

by Akranes



Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Body Image, Chubby Jaskier | Dandelion, Chubby Kink, Getting Together, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, M/M, Misunderstandings, Teasing, Weight Gain, Weight Gain Kink, Weight Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-15
Updated: 2020-09-18
Packaged: 2021-03-06 14:27:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,672
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26480413
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Akranes/pseuds/Akranes
Summary: Their relationship is still new and fragile. If it can really be called a relationship at all, that is. Jaskier's not wholly convinced yet.What heisconvinced of, is that he needs to stop having seconds and thirds at every tavern they go to.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 29
Kudos: 286





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Guess what chub kink writer watched The Witcher in this most recent quarantine wave heyooo (I'm glad I squeezed it in before Cuties came out, because I'm highly considering dropping Netflix. Google it. It's fucked.)
> 
> This is also my 20th fic on this site ahh!! A big ty to anyone who reads my kinky trash on the reg, love y'all <3
> 
> This is intended to be more or less canon complaint after season 1, even though Ciri isn't mentioned, like at all lol.
> 
> I also don't think I've ever had so few tags for something?? There's really nothing here besides chub lol, esp in chapter 2.
> 
> On that note, **read the tags**! This is a chubby/weight gain kink fic. Don't like, don't read~

Jaskier sat up from where he was washing their clothes in the river, hearing Geralt approach from deeper in the woods.

Jaskier felt his eyebrows raise at the string of rabbits over Geralt’s shoulder. It looked like four, maybe five. An impressive haul, considering the witcher had barely been gone an hour. 

The sun was setting behind Geralt, and the warmth silhouetted him, making his hair look almost gold and softening his usual scowl.

“Hunting’s good here,” Geralt said, glancing down at the rabbits over his shoulder. “This forest is lush.”

“Looks like we’ll be eating well tonight,” Jaskier said and Geralt grunted in agreement, wandering back to their camp to begin preparing dinner.

Jaskier shifted back down to the river to finish his task. He frowned as he picked up a pair of his trousers and noticed the loose, strained stitches along the waistband and the wearing along the inner thigh.

When Jaskier first began travelling with Geralt, it would be a treat if Geralt returned from hunting with more than two rabbits. Jaskier didn’t mind too much, even if he’d still complain. He didn’t need much. He was small, and he didn’t carry around all the steel Geralt did, much less did he partake in any combat. Still, light meals and trailing behind Roach had kept him lean. Scrawny even, maybe, but it wasn’t as if it kept him from bedding a barmaid occasionally (if he got lucky) when they found themselves in a little town.

Even if he wished, from the moment he laid eyes on the witcher, that he was bedding him instead.

Jaskier hadn’t been with many men. He had learned it was too easy to offend a man by approaching him that way, even if it felt like signals were being thrown around. It usually created quite a scene, the man loudly and rudely stating that he wasn’t interested. But, he’d known for a while that he found the male body every bit as lovely as the female.

His thoughts returned to Geralt then; fuck, perhaps even more so.

But, Geralt very obviously had feelings for the witch Yennefer. He used to, at the very least, and Jaskier understood the situation well enough to know that it had left Geralt a bit raw. Still, Jaskier knew he didn’t have the full story, but Geralt gave him hard eyes whenever he asked more about her. All Jaskier really knew now was that somehow, she felt betrayed by the witcher and wished to be intimate with him no longer.

They’d encountered her a few times in their travels since the ceasing of their romantic relationship and she was usually amiable enough, even if she reeked of danger and chaos. The way her and Geralt (well, mostly her, truth be told) still seemed to slip into easy, unintentional flirtation made Jaskier’s skin crawl.

He had no right being jealous. Even if he and Geralt had become...intimate lately.

Jaskier wasn’t really sure what to call them. They weren’t _together_ , he was sure of that much. He figured he was mostly a consolation prize, someone for Geralt to still lay with in the wake of his relationship with Yennefer.

It surely should’ve bothered him more, but it didn’t. It was foolish, so foolish that it made Jaskier think he should’ve been a fool instead of a bard. Because he was already so invested in Geralt that the moment Yennefer’s anger ebbed, or he found another wildly dangerous and gorgeous woman and moved on, Jaskier knew he would be broken.

And yet, he allowed it to proceed. It started a night they had gotten drunk. It was the first time _Geralt_ had actually drank enough to get _drunk_. Well, a little drunk at least. Jaskier was fairly sure the night wouldn’t have unfolded the way it did had the witcher not partaken in drinking more than he usually did.

It had been in a raunchy, bordering on skeevy tavern and Jaskier had played some of his dirtier songs which got lots of rowdy cheering and boisterous laughter from the patrons. When his fingers grew sore and his head was getting fuzzy from all the drinks the barmaids kept bringing him, he took his leave and slipped back into the corner booth Geralt was quietly sitting in.

Jaskier had grinned and dropped his heavy coin purse onto the table.

“It’s no monster-reward, but don’t say I don’t pull my weight,” Jaskier had said.

“I never say that,” Geralt said, tipping the last of his ale back and pushing the empty glass to the edge of the table, to join a few other empty glasses.

Jaskier raised an eyebrow, surprised. Geralt wasn’t a heavy drinker, and usually stopped after a pint, sometimes two, but now there were six empty pints at the end of the table.

“Didn’t know you had such a colorful history,” Geralt said, his eyes meeting Jaskier’s.

Jaskier laughed nervously, suddenly unsure. “Well, a good bard embellishes some details, makes stories a little more exciting.”

“Hm,” was all Geralt said. Geralt had all sorts of grunts, and there was something terse about this one. It confused Jaskier. Geralt was many things, but Jaskier never thought prude was among them.

“What about the one where you were courting the noble lady and bedded her page instead? Was that true?”

Jaskier stilled. There were many who condemned the act of two men sleeping together, but he never expected such judgement from Geralt.

He felt himself frown. “Actually, yes, that one’s fairly honest.” It was a funny, bouncy song, one Jaskier played very infrequently because of the risk, but he read the crowd’s mood correctly and had the room laughing and dancing merrily along with him.

“Hm,” Geralt said again, and silence settled over them. Geralt’s eyes were fixed on his hands, folded on the table. Jaskier was getting ready to announce that if Geralt had a problem with him, he’d better just say it, when Geralt stood from the table.

“Let’s turn in for the evening,” he said, voice low, his eyes finally meeting Jaskier’s again. There was something unreadable in them, an expression Jaskier had never seen despite travelling with the witcher for several years now.

“Uh- alright,” Jaskier said, getting to his feet unsteadily. All those drinks were catching up with him. He swayed on his feet, and Geralt held him securely by the elbow.

His touch lingered after Jaskier had regained his balance. He looked down and Geralt’s gloved hand, large enough to encircle his elbow.

Geralt finally released him then, with a clearing of his throat. Jaskier felt the urge to groan. Geralt really was feeling uneasy with this new information about Jaskier, wasn’t he?

He plodded to the stairs of the tavern, where they rented a room. He felt sloshy and gross, the familiar feeling of self-loathing creeping in, fueled by Geralt’s judgement.

The tavern had been too crowded to give them two rooms, and Geralt was often too cheap to pay for two anyways when he also had to pay for a stall for Roach. They usually took turns in the bed, and the other would sleep amongst the furs they used when camping to create a makeshift bed on the ground.

Jaskier began straightening the furs from where Geralt had slept the night before when Geralt came up behind him, tugging gently on his elbow and encouraging him to stand.

“What?” Jaskier said in a tired groan, turning to face the witcher.

“Bard,” Geralt growled and Jaskier stiffened, surprised by the predatory glint in his eyes. Geralt stepped closer, well within his personal space and Jaskier inhaled sharply.

“Jaskier,” Geralt said, and Jaskier felt his heart race.

Geralt had removed his gloves now, and raised his hand to cup Jaskier’s cheek. Jaskier felt his eyes widen. Surely this wasn’t - it _couldn’t be_ -

And then Geralt’s lips were on his. Jaskier couldn’t help it, he opened his mouth to Geralt immediately, sagging into the kiss. He’d been pining for so long that he had almost forgotten he’d been pining, and maybe it was the surprise or the alcohol but it felt so _right_.

That night had been months ago, now, and while they’d slept together quite a few times since, they hadn’t discussed whatever this arrangement really was. Jaskier didn’t have the heart to bring it up, to have Geralt confirm what he already knew was true; this was just sex.

But, still, he couldn’t deny that Geralt had grown a bit more...affectionate.

If Roach’s load wasn’t too large, he’d pull Jaskier up in front of him on the saddle, pulling an arm around his waist as they plodded along.

He seemed to enjoy casually touching Jaskier; a hand on his hip as he walked past, putting a hand on his lower back if he was walking behind Jaskier. Sometimes he’d even press a kiss to his temple or the crown of his head, pulling him in for an embrace, if he felt Jaskier was in need of calming.

And then, of course, there was the food. The increase in Geralt’s game had been a delightful treat initially; Jaskier could deal with eating light, but he wasn’t exactly fond of it and dealing with a growling stomach only an hour or two after a meal.

The sex was fantastic, but these little intimacies...Jaskier had a hard time accepting them. They felt too much like a relationship. The interactions left a sour taste in his mouth.

Now, Jaskier walked back to their camp with a basketful of wet clothes, and smelled something delicious in the air. His stomach grumbled traitorously and Jaskier remembered his worn pants with a scowl.

He was grateful to be eating better, but his waistline obviously wasn’t. He hadn’t been eating _that_ much more, he had thought, but he couldn’t deny the new poochiness around his belly and the softness in his thighs and arms. 

“Smells good,” Jaskier commented as he began stringing a line between trees to hang the wet laundry.

“Hm,” Geralt said from behind him, but even without looking, Jaskier could tell he was pleased.

They worked in silence, Jaskier feeling a little too on-edge for his usual one sided chatter. If Geralt noticed, he didn’t say anything.

Jaskier finished and sat on a log on the opposite side of the campfire. Geralt gave him a look, one that almost looked a little sad.

“What?” Jaskier said, defensive.

Geralt sighed, “Sit by me, bard.”

Jaskier narrowed his eyes, “Why?”

“Do you not wish to?”

That really wasn’t the case, so Jaskier rolled his eyes and stood again, coming to sit down on the same log as Geralt. Their thighs brushed and Jaskier felt the heat rolling off him.

Geralt grunted again, but it was a happier sound this time. One of his hands reached out to stir the stew in front of them and the other wrapped around Jaskier’s hip.

Jaskier bit his lip, barely refraining from curling into the witcher like he so desperately wanted to. It wasn’t fair to tease himself like that, to act as if he and Geralt were anything real. He sat stiffly upright instead.

After a few moments, Geralt removed his hand and sighed, a disappointed sound again. He looked at Jaskier, his brows knit and something unreadable in his eyes.

“Do I-?” Geralt started, before looking away and growling, poking at the stew and the skewers of rabbit over the fire.

“Do you what?” Jaskier asked.

Geralt only growled again, looking frustrated.

Jaskier was far too curious to not press further, “Geralt?”

Geralt sighed again, turning to Jaskier and meeting his eyes with an earnestness that had Jaskier reeling.

“Do I displease you?”

“Do you-? _What_?” Jaskier wasn’t sure he understood.

Geralt just sat, unblinking, waiting for the answer.

When Jaskier only gaped, Geralt turned back to the fire, looking more tense than Jaskier had ever seen him.

“You’re usually so...vocal,” Geralt said, “You say what’s on your mind. But I can feel you holding back. There is...unease around you. When I touch you.”

“So you think I don’t like you?”

Geralt stared at the fire, “I think perhaps I’ve misinterpreted this.”

That was too much. “Wait. Hold on. Stop,” Jaskier said.

Geralt looked back up at him.

“Why don’t you tell me exactly what you think _this_ is? Speak plainly,” Jaskier insisted.

Geralt scowled. “I started this... _discussion_.”

Jaskier sighed, understanding the hidden meaning: _you go first_. It likely took a lot for Geralt to bring this up at all, that much was true. And besides, Jaskier had been waiting for this conversation for a while, “I suppose I’ve been under the impression that this is, y’know, just sex.”

Geralt’s jaw clenched. “I see.”

Jaskier watched him, disbelieving. “That doesn’t mean... that that’s all I _want_ this to be.”

Geralt was still tense, “Speak plainly,” he repeated back at Jaskier.

Jaskier gave a little humorless laugh. “Fair enough. I suppose...I’ve seen you and Yennefer. I’ve seen how you act around someone you really care about intimately. And, well...it’s never how you acted around me. So, when you approached me, I figured...it was just because I was there.”

“Just...because you were there?” Geralt repeated, meeting Jaskier’s eyes, and looking so _vulnerable_ that Jaskier’s breath caught.

“I...well, yeah, I suppose.”

Geralt was silent for a long time, looking into Jasier’s eyes, then down at his own hands, folded tensely in his lap. “And what do you want us to be?”

“Something real. Not just sex,” Jaskier forced himself to say before he could chicken out, “I...like you, Geralt. I have for a while.”

“I didn’t know you were interested in men,” Geralt said, and Jaskier blinked.

“Okay?”

“So I never thought we would be together. That’s why I hadn’t been treating you the way I treat someone I care about in that way. It...seemed like it would be foolish.”

A surprising anger rose in Jaskier’s throat. “You mean to tell me that you’ve liked me this whole time? That’s horse shit, Geralt.”

Geralt blinked, surprised by the outburst, and his brows furrowed in confusion. “Well...I have found you attractive the whole time, yes. I didn’t imagine anything romantic coming between us, because I assumed you only liked women.”

Jaskier shook his head and stared into the fire, hurt and anger coiling in his belly. “You never would’ve spoken to Yennefer the way you spoke to me. After the dragons.”

He could see Geralt still out of the corner of his eye. Geralt had tracked him down and apologized not long after his outburst, and Jaskier had missed him enough to move past it. He had thought so, at least, but suddenly Geralt’s words that day were ringing in his ears all over again.

“So are you lying to me or to yourself, Geralt? Because you don’t want me. Not like that,” Jaskier finished, staring into the fire.

“Jaskier…” Geralt said, his voice raw and low, filled with such emotion that Jaskier looked up. His golden eyes were intense, boring into him, and so filled with regret that Jaskier almost got choked up.

“There are no excuses I can offer for how I spoke to you that day. Yennefer...meant a lot to me. She…” Geralt trailed off, then sighed and continued, “That was the day she ended our relationship. It was my fault, and there was no one to blame but myself. But I could not accept that, so I blamed you instead.”

Jaskier nodded, finally understanding. It soothed him a little, knowing the unanswered reason Geralt spoke to him with such cruelty that day. But it also confirmed what he knew all along, and reinforced his point that Yennefer was the only one Geralt really cared about romantically.

“I am sorry I hurt you, Jaskier,” Geralt insisted with such sincerity that it made Jaskier’s heart ache.

“It’s alright. Well, it’s _not_ , but I understand. And I forgive you.”

Geralt nodded, but understood that Jaskier was still leaving things unsaid. “But?” he prompted.

Jaskier smiled ruefully at him, “But I can’t be in any sort of relationship with you, Geralt.”

Geralt’s jaw was tight as he nodded, “I see.”

“But not because I don’t want to.”

Geralt gave him a look. “Please, Jaskier, no riddles.”

Jaskier shrugged, trying to seem as if the truth didn’t pain him to his very core, “You love Yennefer. Far more than me. If she were to get over whatever happened between you two, ask for you back, are you really going to pretend you wouldn’t go? Even if we were together?”

Geralt opened his mouth, then shut it. Then opened it again, “You truly believe that?”

Anger rose again, but Jaskier was growing too tired. He sighed and said, “What have you done to make me believe differently, Geralt?”

A sound escaped Geralt, a soft exhale of air that was close to a laugh, or an exasperated sigh. Jaskier glared over at him, and Geralt bravely put a hand on Jaskier’s soft thigh. Despite everything, the touch soothed him.

“Do all the times we’ve encountered her, and I’ve done nothing romantic whatsoever, count for nothing?”

“That doesn’t mean you don’t _feel_ for her.”

“Jaskier,” Geralt said, and now Jaskier knew he wasn’t imagining it; there was _amusement_ in his voice.

“Is this funny to you?!” Jaskier said, his anger burning hotter.

Geralt stroked his thumb back and forth over Jaskier’s thigh. “Let me finish. What Yennefer and I had was...chaotic. It was a whirlwind, and we fell in love, hard and fast. She was exciting and mysterious, I could hardly imagine my life without her once we met,” Geralt paused and something remorseful crossed his face as he added, “Something tells me my life will always involve her somehow.

“But, now that I’ve gotten...distance, from my time with her...Jaskier, she isn’t what I want. The complications, the dramatics, the darkness...what I crave is someone who will stand by me, through anything. And that is not Yennefer. What we had was based on circumstance and attraction. We aren’t compatible for anything more than that. She...brings out the worst in me.”

Jaskier swallowed, feeling heavy emotion settle in his chest. “So she’s exciting and I’m boring, is that it?”

Geralt growled then, “Are you being difficult on purpose?”

“You should know well enough by now that I’m always difficult.”

Geralt huffed again, raising the hand on his thigh to his cheek, stroking gently with his fingers.

“Jaskier, please...I care for you. And if you feel the same- just _let_ me.”

Jaskier didn’t need more than that. He pressed their lips together, and Geralt gave a grunt of surprise, but reciprocated easily and hungrily.

_

Jaskier didn’t realize how bad his weight had gotten until they arrived at another town, quite a few weeks later.

There were rumors of a livestock-snatching demon in the woods, with a nice bounty. They made the trek to town and Geralt rented a room at the local tavern, mostly for Jaskier’s comfort, as Geralt had left to search the woods in the morning, and could be gone for a few days.

Jaskier was planning to perform in the tavern today, pick up some extra coin for them, and rummaged through the sack of his clothes, looking for something a little more eye-catching than the comfortable, worn slacks he wore when they were travelling.

He found the pair he was searching for and began slipping them up his thighs, when he encountered surprising resistance. He tugged a little harder, looked down, and blushed.

His thickened thighs swelled gently over where the waistband of his trousers were lodged, and looking down gave him an unfortunate look at how plump his tummy had grown under Geralt’s affections.

Jaskier grumbled and tugged harder, refusing to believe he had outgrown them completely. They inched upwards and Jaskier’s fingers were beginning to feel raw from tugging at the stiff fabric, when he finally managed to pull them up over his swollen rear.

His belly poked shamelessly between the open flaps of the pants, and when Jaskier went to fasten the laces, he found his belly pushed the flaps too far apart for the laces to reach. He sucked in, feeling his face _burn_ in humiliation, but somehow even that wasn’t enough and he couldn’t quite get them tied. His knuckles bumped into the doughy swell as he tried, but it was to no avail.

His eyes drifted to the standing mirror in the corner with morbid curiosity. Most places they stayed weren’t nice enough to have such an amenity, but this town was wealthy, which was one of the reasons the bounty on this beast was so high.

Jasker walked over, feeling how tight the trousers were over his thighs as he moved, and looked at his reflection and paled.

It had been a good few months since Jaskier had seen his reflection in anything other than river water. Now, taking a good look, he wondered how he could’ve been so oblivious to the changes in his body.

Before he and Geralt had gotten together, Jaskier’s ribs and hip bones had been visible, the planes of his torso and arms sharp and flat. Now, they were smoothed over and rounded out by a generous layer of fat. Even his clavicle and shoulder blades were far less visible than before.

There were swells of fat over his hips, poking out over the waistband of his tight trousers, even though they were undone. His tummy was plump and round and when Jaskier prodded it, he found it alarmingly soft and willing to jiggle. Looking further up, he had developed small accumulations of fat around his nipples, giving the appearance of budding breasts. Even his upper arms, where he was once thin enough to be rewarded with some definition, were now toneless and smooth.

He noticed little collection red marks along the bottom of his stomach, and a few peppering the rolls at his hips. With great alarm, he realized they were stretch marks, like pregnant women get. He groaned out loud. Had he really grown so fat?

This was news to him, but icy dread flowed through him when he realized Geralt knew _exactly_ what he looked like. Even on dark nights in the forest, when Jaskier could hardly make out the muscular shape of Geralt’s body, Jaskier knew Geralt could see him as well as he could in daylight.

Geralt may truly care for him, and that’s likely the reason he hadn’t said anything, but surely he couldn’t be attracted to him like _this_.

Turning away from the mirror, Jaskier shoved the trousers off his legs and slipped a more comfortable pair on. Maybe he was just more aware of himself now, but they seemed to hug his thighs more snuggly than he remembered.

He’d have to perform in these, then. Maybe if he made enough coin he could buy some new clothes before Geralt returned.

He’d eat light while Geralt was gone, too. Hell, that was something that should continue probably well after Geralt returned. The thought made him hesitate and chew his lip. Geralt seemed to take a lot of pleasure in providing him enough food lately, and it warmed the bard’s insides, too. Refusing seconds and thirds of Geralt’s cooking sounded miserable, and would probably cause Geralt to question _why_.

He’d worry about that later. Grabbing his lute and straightening his shoulders, he left the room and went downstairs.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did I mention this is a kink fic? Things heat up. No real smut but read them tags~

Jaskier’s evenings in the little town proved lucrative.

Geralt had only been gone a few days, and could well be gone a few more still. Jaskier already made enough coin for an undercover trip to the tailor and clothier, one Geralt wouldn’t have to know about.

As he walked over there, enjoying the crisp Autumn air, he reflected on the situation. It was all good and well that he was buying clothes that would fit him properly, but it served little purpose if he failed to address the root of the issue.

He had resolved to eat better the day he couldn’t wiggle into his nicer performing pants, but, well. They treated him awfully well at the inn he was staying at, since he kept the drinking and supping guests entertained at no cost to the inn. They’d pour him a new pint when his was dwindling, and refill his plate once he had nearly cleared it. It felt rude, too, not to enjoy the hospitality of the innkeep; she was a portly woman whose husband owned a farm, so she liked Jaskier and Geralt well enough when she heard Geralt was going after the beast in the woods.

This was supposed to be an _easy_ time to cut back, too, without Geralt’s golden eyes watching him.

Try as he might to stop it, inadequacy settled in his bones. The feeling only became deeper when he entered the tailor, was guided to a private room and received his new waist measurement.

Jaskier ended up purchasing a new pair of roomy linen trousers for their travels, a similarly comfortable tunic, and a flashier ensemble for performing in a deep red, accented with gold. It cost him all the coin he’d earned in this town, but that was fine. Really, they hadn’t struggled for coin in a while.

Jaskier had been out of his room since early; he went for a walk around the town after he had overeaten at breakfast (the innkeeper's name was Cala and she really was too generous for the good of Jaskier’s waistline), and then went to get his new clothes.

Jaskier opened the door to his room, feeling himself flinch in surprise when a large shape was in his bed.

Jaskier sighed at himself when he realized the large shape was only Geralt, obviously returned from his trip out into the woods. The townsfolk would surely be tittering in no time about the witcher, aiding his reputation. Maybe they’d stay one more night just to celebrate properly. The evening after Geralt defeated a town’s monster was usually when the townsfolk were feeling most generous, anyways.

Jaskier put his package with his new clothes on the table in the room and wandered over to Geralt’s sleeping form. He was sprawled on his stomach, silver hair fanned out and covering his face. He’d removed his shirt, and the sheets were pushed down to his waist. Geralt was a light sleeper usually, but it wasn’t uncommon for him to stay awake for several days in a row on a hunt. Afterwards, he slept deeper and longer.

Jaskier figured maybe he got lucky and could integrate his new clothes with the old before Geralt woke, but no such luck. Right as he turned to walk away from Geralt and to his pack, Geralt stirred.

“Jas?” He murmured, deep and sleep rumbly, and Jaskier felt himself grow warm all over. The endearment always made him tingle all the way down to his toes.

The thought occurred to him to scurry and try to hide his purchase to avoid questions. But maybe it was how comfortable Geralt looked, or the easy affection that had rolled off his tongue, but he found that he’d rather watch Geralt’s sleepy, waking form.

He felt a soft smile curl his lips as he watched Geralt rouse from his sleep, propping up on one muscled arm to look over his shoulder in search of Jaskier. His glowing eyes found him easily and Geralt visibly relaxed, and an expression of pure contentment smoothed his features.

He turned over onto his back and the sheets slid down a little further, still covering his groin, but riding low enough for Jaskier to see it wasn’t just his top half that was bare.

A heady _want_ stirred in him, but inadequacy was rising once again like bile in the back of his throat, impossible to ignore. How could _this_ man possibly be attracted to him?

“Come lay with me,” Geralt said, watching him.

“It’s the middle of the day,” Jaskier stated in mild protest, as he walked to the other side of the bed and climbed in anyway.

Geralt made a grunt, one Jaskier recognized as not entirely pleased. He had probably meant for Jaskier to strip naked like he had, but Jaskier would rather avoid that right now if at all possible.

Still, Geralt gladly lifted a heavy arm and wrapped it around Jaskier when he crawled close, bringing him into his chest. Geralt’s arms were long and his hand came to rest on Jaskier’s back, where his shirt and pants met. Geralt wasted no time in slipping his fingers under Jaskier’s tunic, stroking over the bare skin of his lower back. Jaskier hummed appreciatively.

“How was the hunt?” Jaskier asked.

“It was a wyvern,” Geralt said, “the constable gave me an extra fifteen percent when he saw what it was. He’ll probably sell the parts off, make back his coin.”

“Mm,” Jaskier said, tracing his hand over Geralt’s warm, rock hard chest.

Although, maybe he should have restrained himself, because then the door was open for Geralt. He slipped his hand more insistently under the bard’s tunic, rucking it up as well as he could with Jaskier snuggled against him.

“Take this off,” Geralt rumbled, plucking at the offending garment.

Jaskier swallowed, feeling his heart rate pick up. It’s not like he looked any different than he had five days ago, when Geralt left. He shouldn’t be so afraid.

He sat up so he could get underneath the hem, and he pulled his shirt overhead quickly. Geralt didn't have the curtains drawn, but it was midday so the room was still bright enough for Jaskier to see Geralt plainly, so he knew the opposite was certainly true. Feeling too ashamed to let Geralt look at his bare torso too long, Jaskier tossed his shirt onto the floor and quickly slid back against Geralt’s side, using Geralt’s own considerable mass to try and hide the plumpness of his belly.

Geralt gave a pleased grunt then, his hand back on Jaskier’s back, but then it slipped over the rolls at his waist and the swells of fat over his hips.

Jaskier couldn’t help squirming a little. It must’ve caught Geralt’s attention because soon he reached down to Jaskier’s face, pulling his chin up so Geralt could kiss him.

Jaskier let him, happily, even though unease had settled into his chest. He’d have to try and shed some of this weight, so he could be at least somewhat worthy of Geralt.

Geralt pulled away, but placed a hand on Jaskier’s cheek, keeping his face close.

“Jaskier? Is something wrong?”

“What? No,” Jaskier said, far too quickly and resolutely and then Geralt’s brow was furrowing.

Geralt kept staring at him, his golden eyes concerned.

“Really, it’s nothing,” Jaskier assured him.

“There _is_ something, then?”

“No! Nothing’s wrong.”

Geralt groaned. “Jas, please. Did something happen while I was away?”

Jaskier swatted Geralt’s hands away from his face so he could lay against Geralt’s chest again and he wouldn’t have to meet Geralt’s stare. “Nothing’s wrong. I’m fine.”

Geralt sighed, and suddenly Jaskier was being moved from his spot. He sputtered as Geralt effortlessly readjusted them, and soon Geralt was sitting upright, leaning back against the headboard, and Jaskier was plopped in his naked lap.

Jaskier much preferred their old position, because now his chubby torso was very much on display. He was still wearing his trousers, thankfully, but his tummy rounded out over the waistband, shamelessly plush and round.

Before Jaskier could really react, Geralt brought a hand to his chest, grazing a puffy pectoral.

“Your heart rate is elevated. It has been since I asked you to lay down. You are...upset.”

Jaskier bit his lip.

“Jaskier, please,” Geralt pleaded, and damned if Jaskier wasn’t weak to that.

“I just- I hadn’t realized how fat I had gotten, okay?” Jaskier forced himself to blurt. It was better if he was honest now. He’d already been caught.

Geralt blinked at him owlishly. Jaskier grumbled, feeling his face flame, and began moving off Geralt’s lap. Geralt reached up and took a hold of his upper arms, holding him in place.

Jaskier couldn’t bear Geralt’s silence, so soon he was filling it, “I saw myself in the mirror here, and I knew I had put on _some_ , but now I...ugh, now I know it’s kind of a lot. But, look, I’ll lose it,” Jaskier rambled, not able to bring himself to look up at Geralt, “It was just surprising, a-and I-”

“Jaskier,” Geralt said, and Jaskier finally peered up at him. His eyes were full of affection and patience and it made Jaskier want to hide in a hole.

“You’ve put on weight, but you aren’t fat,” he said, dropping a hand to rub a few circles in the pudge of his belly. Jaskier squirmed, trying to discourage his hand from lingering there.

But it did, stubbornly. “It’s nothing to be ashamed of,” Geralt added.

Jaskier glared at him weakly, then down at his hand, where his thumb was swiping back and forth over a stretch mark to the side of his navel.

“How can you say that? You’re fitter than any human could hope to be, and I’m just a useless pig,” Jaskier complained, feeling petulant from the unfairness of it all.

Geralt’s eyes went hard and his nostrils flared. His grip on Jaskier tightened.

“Listen well, bard. You are _not_ useless, and much less a pig. Do you truly think that because you cannot hunt beasts of the night like me, you are devoid of purpose and worth?”

Now Jaskier sighed, “I guess not.” He didn’t really mean it seriously, but Geralt’s words soothed him nonetheless.

“And you are not a pig,” Geralt brushed Jaskier’s hair off his forehead with the back of his hand, “I can’t tell you how well it pleases me when you enjoy the labors of my hunt, or when you eat your fill at taverns.”

“But I-”

Geralt growled dangerously, pressing a kiss to his cheek, then grumbling in his ear, “Think well before you insult my lover again.”

Jaskier huffed, but felt a smile tug at the corners of his lips.

“You are beautiful, Jaskier. Please don’t doubt that,” Geralt said, pulling him into a reassuring kiss.

Jaskier felt more relaxed, but not quite entirely. When Geralt pulled back, Jaskier looked down at his belly, compressed into chubby rolls since he was sitting hunched over and flushed.

“I know you care for me,” Jaskier assured him, “but surely you were a little more attracted when I was leaner.” Jaskier gave a self-deprecating chuckle and added, “And I’d really hate for Roach to throw out his back.”

Geralt didn’t look amused. Instead, he followed Jaskier’s eyes and gazed down at the softness of his belly. Jaskier went to cross his arms over it instinctually, but Geralt gently pushed his hands away, not allowing him to hide.

“You misunderstand,” Geralt said, “I think you’re gorgeous like this.”

Jaskier blinked, feeling shocked.

“I, ah,” Geralt hesitated, “If you’re displeased with your shape now, you’d be more right to blame me, at least in part, rather than yourself.”

Jaskier furrowed his brows, “Why would I blame you?”

Geralt gave him a look that could be best described as vaguely amused, “Surely it can’t actually surprise you to hear I enjoy keeping you well fed? I’ve been catching extra game for months.”

“Well, yes, I’ve noticed that.”

Geralt looked well amused now, a little grin on his face, “Then tell me why I’d continue to do that if I was unhappy with how you look?”

“I- well, I don’t know," Jaskier said, suddenly feeling a bit silly, "maybe to spare my feelings.”

Geralt shook his head.

“To be frank, I enjoy your body now even more than I ever have, not to say I haven’t always thought you’re attractive. But now you look cared for, and it pleases me to no end to be the one who cares for you. I…” 

Geralt hesitated, eyes flicking down before continuing, “I’m sorry I didn’t say so earlier, especially now that I know you’re displeased with your body, but...I really do like it, Jas. You always look so happy when you’re eating, and I like the thought of people being able to look at you and see how well I take care of you, how well I protect you.”

Jaskier met his eyes. Geralt looked vulnerable and sincere, and also like he was waiting for Jaskier to yell at him.

“I see,” Jaskier said softly.

When that was all he said, Geralt frowned, “Are you angry with me?” he asked tentatively.

How could he be? It’s not like Geralt had forced him to eat more, anyways. He’d only made food more available. Looking at his weight now, he realized that every extra pound was like a physical manifestation of Geralt’s affection for him. If Geralt still thought he was attractive, even more so this way, then...was there really an issue?

“No, I’m not angry.”

When that was all he said, Geralt regarded him uncertainly, “Are you sure?”

Jaskier huffed, smiling and pressing a kiss to Geralt’s jaw. “Yes, I’m sure. That’s...very sweet, actually. And I suppose it makes sense.”

Geralt hummed, putting a calming hand on the back of Jaskier’s neck, swiping his thumb back and forth at his nape.

When Jaskier thought of his weight that way, as proof that he was under Geralt’s protection, as proof of Geralt’s care, as proof that he _was_ Geralt’s...he understood Geralt’s feelings.

He...might even share them? Something deep in him glowed in delight at the idea of belonging to Geralt, and being pudgy enough that the whole world knew it.

“Maybe I don’t mind my weight so much, then,” Jaskier admitted.

Geralt made another amused sound, “You were only concerned with what I thought?”

“Well- I do rather like eating.”

Geralt chuckled, “I’m aware.”

Jaskier felt himself blush again, but this time it was easy to laugh along with Geralt, “Oh, shut up. You love it, apparently.”

“I do,” Geralt agreed easily, unabashed, “You have a strong, healthy appetite.”

“Strong, to be certain,” Jaskier agreed, laughing.

Geralt smiled too, his hand back on Jaskier’s tummy, resting there protectively. His eyes looked past Jaskier, and landed on the dresser behind him.

“Did you buy something in the town today?” he asked, sounding curious. His fingers swiped back and forth absently.

Jaskier felt his cheeks turn pink again. He ducked his head, but didn’t see any reason to lie, “Yes. I, um. Bought some new clothes. My nice set, the green and blue one, it, ugh, doesn’t really fit anymore.”

Geralt pursed his lips, “If your clothes were growing tight, you should have said so.”

“Well, my travelling clothes were still mostly okay, and I didn’t really realize it until I tried to put the blue set on, but, uh. The stitching was too tight. I bought it quite a while ago.”

“You couldn’t do it up?”

Jaskier scoffed, “No, I didn’t even bother to put the tunic on once I couldn’t fasten the trousers.”

Jaskier flushed then, realizing what he said so carelessly. He cautiously peered up at Geralt, surprised when his eyes were intense and his pupils wide.

Geralt’s hand gave his tummy a little squeeze. Jaskier inhaled sharply through his nose, feeling himself arch into the touch.

“I’m glad you made a new purchase, then,” Geralt said, his voice dropped to a low grumble, “Sounds like your old one is for my eyes only.”

“You’d- you’d like that? Seeing me in...something I’ve outgrown?” Jaskier asked, regarding Geralt and trying to remain coherent enough to investigate whatever _this_ was before Geralt sidetracked him with more searing hot touches.

“Mmhm,” Geralt growled, a decidedly affirmative sound, before pressing kisses along Jaskier’s neck.

Geralt kissed his way down Jaskier’s neck, but stopped shy of his bare chest and peered up at Jaskier.

“You’re so lovely like this. And...I think I’d like to see just how much I’ve spoiled you.”

 _Spoiled_. Something about the word alone had Jaskier leaning his head back and groaning. Geralt dove back in and began sucking on a soft, pudgy little breast.

That’s what Jaskier was, wasn’t he? He _was_ spoiled. Geralt spoiled him. He couldn’t remember the last time Geralt made him walk alongside Roach. These days, Geralt would sooner walk himself than ask Jaskier to dismount if Roach’s load was too much or the distance too long for the both of them to ride. He’d make a special trip to get sweets for Jaskier if there was a bakery or confectionery in town. And at taverns, if Geralt didn’t eat his own food quickly enough, Jaskier would start eyeing it, and after that it never took long for Geralt to nudge his food Jaskier’s way, or order the bard another plate.

For some reason, he _really_ liked the idea of that. Being spoiled by Geralt and wearing the effects.

“Would you put it on for me?” Geralt asked, and it was more the ceasing of his hot mouth over Jaskier’s nipples that got his attention rather than the question.

“Huh? Right now?” Jaskier panted out.

Geralt’s eyes were pleading and hungry, more desperate than he had maybe ever looked. _Oh_.

It had Jaskier nodding and scrambling off his lap. He rummaged through his pack, and produced the set. He looked up at Geralt and felt himself blush _red_.

Geralt was leaning back on his hands, legs hanging off the bed. He was hard, and _Lord,_ Geralt really was impossibly handsome. His icy hair was sleep tousled but his bright eyes were intense, watching Jaskier’s every move. His cock was the largest Jaskier had ever seen, both long and girthy with a slight curve, standing proudly out from his narrow hips. His arms, legs, shoulders and abdomen were all so well-muscled that Geralt truly looked unreal. Like some kind of sex god.

Geralt was grinning. “Go on,” he prompted.

 _This man_ wanted him. He wanted Jaskier in all his imperfections, all his curves and bumps and stretch marks.

Jaskier bit his lip and grinned back, even though his face was still burning hot as he made quick work of the trousers he was wearing, then he stuck his legs through the nicer trousers. Just as in private, they caught around midthigh, making Jaskier huff and tug a little harder.

Geralt was watching, rapt, and Jaskier couldn’t help commentating, “I hadn’t even noticed my thighs were any bigger.”

“I had.”

Jaskier grinned at him, “Of course _you_ did.” Jaskier gave his trousers a few more tugs but they felt somehow tighter than they had just a few days ago. Jaskier felt his whole body wobble as he gave a few impatient hops, trying to get his hips into the trousers.

“This is all your fault, anyways,” Jaskier complained, wiggling.

“I don’t know about _all._ You’ve got a greedy appetite.”

Jaskier’s breath hitched and his fingers twitched over his waistband. “What happened to ‘healthy’?”

Geralt raked his eyes over Jaskier’s body and Jaskier felt like he was vibrating. His own aching cock was out, not yet tucked into his trousers.

“Maybe your appetite _used_ to be more healthy than greedy,” Geralt mused, cocking his head, coming to his feet and walking over to Jaskier.

“I remember these,” he said, brushing his fingers over Jaskier’s waistband, still lodged underneath his plump ass. It took Jaskier a moment to realize Geralt was talking about the trousers.

Geralt gave Jaskier’s ass, overflowing the waistband, a rough squeeze. Jaskier moaned, unable to stop himself.

“You wore them when we were in Carsten,” Geralt continued, “I remember noticing for the first time that you looked fuller. These were snug around your rear.” Geralt gave the waistband a tug and let the weight of his ass jiggle.

“That was only eight months ago, Jaskier. You’ve completely outgrown these in that time.”

“No, no, Carsten was last year,” Jaskier quickly insisted, his brain scrambling to remember. He remembered Carsten well, but surely it had been longer than just eight months ago. It had been the dead of winter, and they ended up spending nearly three weeks there, trapped in a brutal snowstorm. Jaskier had made the bulk of their coin during that time, and he remembered playing so frequently that he got some new calluses, for the first time since he was a teenager.

But, if that had been January, bleeding into February, and it was nearing the end of September now…

Geralt was watching him with an amused, raised eyebrow, clearly waiting for him to do the math himself.

Jaskier felt his face flame anew. Had he really gotten so plump, so fast?

Geralt was toying with his waistband, still stuck under his behind, giving it a few more half-hearted tugs that did little more than make Jaskier jiggle.

“You’ve blossomed,” Geralt said, in a low, soft voice that was almost a coo, “You’re so stunning, Jaskier. But to my point,” Geralt’s voice got a bit rougher and he smiled again, “You’ve gotten greedy.”

Geralt took a hold of Jaskier’s waistband in earnest then, tugging them up with much more strength than Jaskier could muster. Jaskier squeaked in surprise and gripped Geralt’s bulging biceps for balance. It almost felt as if Geralt was going to lift him off his feet before the waistband reluctantly slipped over his ass.

Geralt fiddled with the waistband after, trying to make it sit as properly on his waist as possible, but Jaskier was simply too fat for them to move any further.

“Greedy looks good on you, Jas. _So_ good.”

Jaskier felt his cock leak in his far too tight pants. He wondered what he got himself into; this sexual deviance of Geralt’s. He seemed more heady than ever; certainly more chatty than usual.

Although, Jaskier would be an abject liar if he said he wasn’t having a great deal of fun, too. He couldn’t discern what about this situation was making his skin feel like it was on fire. But he _liked_ it, there was no doubt.

Jaskier’s tummy and sides pooled over the waistband of his trousers. Geralt rested his fingertips on the dough of his belly, letting them sink in.

Geralt met his eye, knowing, “You’ve eaten well since I’ve been gone, haven’t you?”

“How can you tell?” Jaskier said, looking down at his own tummy, puffed out and round. “Surely I can’t be that much bigger than I was a few days ago.”

Geralt’s grin was devilish, “Didn’t I just tell you? You have a greedy appetite. I was just assuming.”

Jaskier blushed, feeling caught.

“You’re right,” Jaskier admitted, “I didn’t...I hadn’t even _realized_ that my appetite had grown so much,” Jaskier wondered how Geralt would react to the truth, “I...told myself I’d cut back a little, while you were away. After my clothes were so tight.”

“And did you?”

Jaskier huffed, “Obviously not.”

Geralt chuckled and pressed a kiss to Jaskier’s lips. When he pulled back, Jaskier said, “It’s the innkeeper’s fault, she kept refilling my plate.”

“Remind me to thank her for keeping you well fed in my absence,” Geralt said, slipping a hand under Jaskier’s belly and lifting it appraisingly. It filled Geralt’s hand well and Jaskier was sure his blush was extending down his neck by now.

Actually, his belly was arguably a bit too big for just one hand. Soon Geralt was lifting and squeezing all along his belly with both hands. Every touch, every caress sent electricity shooting down Jaskier’s spine. He was starting to go mad.

“Geralt, _please_ ,” Jaskier whimpered, putting on his best begging eyes and leaning in to kiss along Geralt’s strong jaw.

Geralt hummed, “You haven’t even put the shirt on yet, bard.”

Jaskier groaned, impatience mounting. “Let’s get on with it, then,” he said insistently, and Geralt laughed.

“Very well,” Geralt said, looking like the cat that got the cream. He took the laces of Jaskier’s trousers in his hands and stared at where his belly, round and insistent, pushed through the space that the laces were meant to fasten together.

Jaskier felt almost like a woman being corseted. Suddenly he had far more respect for all the women in the courts he had visited over his years.

He felt a rough pinch on his tummy and yelped in surprise. Geralt was grinning at him.

“Suck this in, gorgeous,” he growled, and Jaskier felt his face flame anew.

But, he obeyed and inhaled as much as he could. Geralt wasted no time; his fingers were strong and dexterous, and while it was so tight that Jaskier felt like the life was being squeezed out of him, Geralt actually got the laces tied.

When Geralt released him, Jaskier exhaled and whined pitifully. They were _so_ tight. Had these really fit him less than a year ago?

Geralt was staring again, looking positively awestruck. His golden eyes were wide, drinking in the sight of Jaskier.

Truthfully, it pleased Jaskier greatly.

Jaskier teetered over to the dresser, where Geralt had left the matching tunic. Jaskier heard Geralt chuckle from behind him; probably at the way Jaskier could barely walk in the forsaken trousers.

Jaskier gave him a look over his shoulder for good measure, even though the heat curling through his stomach insisted he was enjoying this as much as Geralt was.

Jaskier’s new tunic that he purchased today had some give, and was the pull-over kind. Both those facts were things Jaskier had taken into consideration before making his purchase.

The Jaskier of a year ago, or whenever he had purchased this old set, thought not about those things. Like the trousers, they were made of stiff and unyielding fabric, and had clasps going down the front.

Geralt was standing near as Jaskier put his arms through the sleeves and began pulling it onto his shoulders.

Jaskier encountered a problem immediately. The sleeves were horribly tight on his upper arms, encasing the chubby roundness tightly and not allowing the shirt to sit properly on his shoulders.

Jaskier felt his face flame anew. His _arms_ had gotten fat? He tugged a little harder, trying to get the sleeves fully on.

Geralt’s hand traced the back of Jaskier’s arm, ignoring the bard’s struggles. Jaskier stilled at his touch and looked up at him.

“When did my arms get so fat?”

Geralt chuckled, giving the pudge of his upper arms a squeeze, “Weeks ago.”

Geralt took hold of the sleeves then, careful not to pinch Jaskier’s soft skin and tugged a little harder. He got them on, more or less, but one of the seams gave a dangerous creak when Jaskier bent his arm.

“I look ridiculous!” Jaskier exclaimed, catching a glimpse of himself in the mirror. His belly looked larger than it ever had, emphasized by the absurdly tight trousers, pooching and hanging over the waistband. His tunic was on his arms and the open sides of it framed the roundness of his tummy. It was painfully obvious that the fastenings would not meet across his torso; not easily at least.

“You look gorgeous,” Geralt growled, stepping behind Jaskier in the mirror and taking a handful of his belly. Jaskier could feel how hard Geralt was, pressed against his softened rear.

“You really like this?” Jaskier asked. The answer seemed perfectly clear, but Geralt seemed chattier than usual, and Jaskier would be damned if he missed an opportunity to get Geralt to openly talk about his feelings and desires.

“I _love_ this,” Geralt said, spinning Jaskier around to press their mouths together in a desperate kiss.

Sure enough, when they parted, Geralt continued, “You look so vibrant, so healthy and cared for…” Geralt trailed off, hands grazing the open sides of his tunic.

Jaskier didn’t have to be told this time; when Geralt took the sides of his tunic with purpose, Jaskier inhaled as much as he could, watching the dough of his tummy quiver from the effort.

Geralt all but purred in pleasure, starting in the middle of Jaskier’s torso and tugging the two sides together. It was snug still, _far_ too snug, but Geralt didn’t struggle for too long. When he started working his way up, towards Jaskier’s neck, Jaskier exhaled with relief and let his tummy plop out once more.

Geralt gave it a look and raised his eyebrow, rough fingers closing the clasp at Jaskier’s neck.

Jaskier felt himself flush, “There’s no reason to suck in if you’re clasping my chest,” he said, a defensive whine creeping into his voice.

“Is it hard?” Geralt asked, voice gravelly, and Jaskier looked at him in confusion.

Geralt’s fingers caressed, so lightly and softly, over the bulge of Jaskier’s belly. “Keeping this sucked in. Is it hard?”

“O-Oh. Um. Sort of?” Jaskier answered, looking down at Geralt’s hand on his belly. His hands were rough, callused, and still bearing a bit of summer tan. It was a stark contrast with the smooth, soft paleness of his tummy.

It was - okay, Jaskier could admit that was kind of hot, too. The contrast between the two of them was another reminder of how hard Geralt worked to keep lean and strong so he could keep Jaskier soft and relaxed.

Geralt squeezed the flesh at his side then, and Jaskier cried out, growing far too aroused for his own good.

“I won’t make you do it for long, then,” Geralt said, and it took Jaskier a moment to remember he was talking about sucking his gut in.

“Come on, bard,” Geralt encouraged, giving the side of his belly a few pats. It wobbled under his hand.

Jaskier whimpered but obeyed, sucking in as much as he could so Geralt could continue to fasten him into this forsaken garment.

But, now he had made his way to where Jaskier was widest. He got the subsequent clasps below the midpoint done, but the one over his belly button was proving challenging. Jaskier tried to suck in harder to help, but soon his tummy muscles were burning. It’s not like he didn’t try to suck it in a little longer, but his muscles weren’t used to the strain, and soon he was exhaling heavily, letting his belly push out against Geralt’s knuckles.

Geralt tsked, and Jaskier had no idea _why_ that made him feel electrified.

Geralt then guided him to the bed, and Jaskier felt hopeful that Geralt had abandoned this and was going to just fuck him already.

But then Geralt was laying him on his back as he loomed, muscular, tall, still naked and intense, over Jaskier. He placed a hand on his belly, where it was still exposed, and traced his stretch marks. His touch was so light, like Jaskier was something fragile, precious and delicate.

“I won’t make you strain yourself,” Geralt said, voice low but rough, “My beautiful, corpulent bard.”

Jaskier almost wanted to sputter, but Geralt’s tone was the same over the words “beautiful” and “corpulent”. Like they were synonymous to him.

Soon Geralt resumed fastening Jaskier in, and Jaskier realized all at once why Geralt had laid him down. His belly, flabby and soft as it was, was flattened by gravity, making for a somewhat easier fit. He still sucked in to help, but this seemed notably easier. It didn’t take too long for Geralt to successfully manhandle him into the tunic.

It did not escape Jaskier’s notice, even laying down, that the tunic was ridiculously tight. It pinched over his belly, and was so tight over his sides that it felt like they would be rubbed raw from the fabric if he wore it for too long. The trousers, too, had been practically cutting him in half this whole time, and he knew he’d be brandishing marks from the waistband once they were removed.

Geralt stood at his full height, watching Jaskier squirm in discomfort.

“Sit up, Jas,” he said, and Jaskier groaned.

Using his hands to push himself up, he bent at the waist and felt immediately how much tighter the garment was like this. It was so tight along his tummy, that Jaskier was about to complain and insist Geralt finally rip him out of the stupid outfit, when- _ping!_

His tummy suddenly spilled into his lap, and Jaskier realized all at once that he had burst through the clasp that was over the fattest part of his belly.

Geralt was there, suddenly, pressing a hot kiss to his mouth and straddling his lap. Jaskier made a sound of surprise, but was more than happy to reciprocate.

Geralt’s hands made their way in the new space created, giving Jaskier’s soft underbelly and reverent squeeze. Jaskier groaned into the kiss, as heat shot up his spine.

Soon, Geralt pulled back and took the two loose flaps of tunic, and ripped them open. Clasps popped off and clattered along the wooden floor. Jaskier inhaled sharply. _Fuck_ , Geralt was so fucking hot.

The sentiment must’ve been written all over his face, because Geralt smirked and dove in, tweaking his nipples with one hand, fondling the swell of a love handle with the other, and nosing and kissing around his waistband, still fastened.

Jaskier watched him, flushing at how very _fat_ he looked, but he also couldn’t deny that he’d never seen Geralt happier.

Honestly, he couldn’t look at all his rolls and curves and feel the same disgust and disappointment as he had that morning. Maybe some embarrassment lingered, but really, he felt quite pleased.

When Geralt finally, _finally_ , unfastened his trousers, Jaskier groaned in relief.

“You are so, so beautiful, Jaskier,” Geralt nearly whispered, tracing his thick fingers over the indents left from the trousers at his sides.

“Mm,” Jaskier hummed, “Would you please just fuck me already?”

Geralt chucked, “It would be my pleasure.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had been sitting on this for a bit hoping I'd feel up to writing actual sex at the end...no dice
> 
> sexuality is hard sometimes, y'all

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and kudos are very appreciated as always <3
> 
> Follow me on [ tumblr ](https://akranes-jlc.tumblr.com)!
> 
> this draft was titled dandelonie in my google docs after youngjae trying to say dandelion (anyone? anyone? probably not lolol)


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